


Rumor Has It

by ShannaraIsles



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Business, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, No Strings Attached, Original Character Intro, Originally a first chapter, Other, Power Behind The Scenes, Seduction, f/f - Freeform, information broker, now a one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: This has been sitting in my docs for over a year now. It’s highly doubtful I’m going to write any more, but this was originally going to be the first chapter of Callum Hawke and Rumor’s story. I think it can stand alone, and if Callum’s new idea takes root, I will definitely be returning to this ‘verse. For now, though, here’s my first foray into Rumor, and a decent character intro for her.





	Rumor Has It

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite information broker. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Varric grinned at the hooded figure leaning in the doorway. Slight for a human, but as deadly as anyone walking these streets, it was a rare day when she deigned to answer his invitation to The Hanged Man personally. But then, it was a rare day when his invitation included business, though he made a point of being friendly. Rumor was everywhere these days; it paid to keep on her good side. Not that friendship was known to get you a discount in the City of Chains.

The melodious lilt of Starkhaven womanhood emanated from the shadows under the cowl. "If you can't recall why you invited me, then p'raps I've wasted my time."

"Oh, don't be like that." The dwarf chuckled, gesturing for her to come in and join him. "If you don't know why you're here, then you're losing your touch."

She pushed out of her lean, letting the door fall closed behind her. "Are we playing that tired old game again, Varric?" she asked, lifting her hood to reveal startlingly blue eyes in a pretty face, crowned with a swaying mass of Rivain-dark hair. "You've not won it any time you've tried."

"One of these days, I'll trip you up," he predicted, though even he knew that was more hope than certainty.

Her answer came in an easy-going drawl as she sat at the table with him. "Aye, and one these days, your brother won't be a colossal dick."

Varric winced apologetically. "His approach did leave a lot to be desired," he conceded, pouring her a mug of ale.

"True," she agreed, taking the offered mug in one small hand. "Starting with money and manners."

"Bartrand doesn't have any money to bargain with," the dwarf pointed out. "He's sunk everything into this expedition."

"Oh, I know that," she assured him. "Pawned the family ring to hire thugs, so I hear."

"Look, I know he's a dick, but he's _my_ dick -" Varric broke off, face to face with a suddenly grinning rogue. "Shut up."

She laughed at his consternation. "I said nothing!"

"You didn't have to," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Rumor ... I need your help."

"No, what you need is a partner to help your dick get it up, and directions so you can penetrate the Deep Roads successfully," she corrected him, pausing to swallow a mouthful of ale. "As it happens, I've both, if you're interested."

He eyed her with not-undue suspicion. "And how much is this going to cost me?"

"For you?" Pale blue eyes locked with his, inscrutable but warm. "Five gold. Payable when you come back, for old time's sake."

Varri'cs brows rose. "You really think your information's worth that much?"

"If you want to get to your thaig before midwinter, aye." Her hand rose, absently running the middle finger over a thin scar on her right collarbone. "The price includes all the information you'll have off me in the next couple of weeks."

"What kind of information?" he asked in a wary tone of voice.

"Do we have a deal?"

Varric considered his companion for a long moment. The truth was, this was a much better offer than he'd been expecting, especially after Bartrand's attempt to get information for nothing. His brother had already bankrupted them funding this ridiculous expedition, and they still needed around fifty gold to finish supplying and preparing. Rumor was the one person whose information he could trust - it was her business. She knew everything that went on in Kirkwall, her sources were rarely ever wrong and always checked before she sold that information on. To have her offering up far more than he asked, and at such a reasonable price, was too good to pass up.

"All right, Rumor, we've got a deal." He reached across the table to clasp her hand. "Five gold, for anything you can give me."

She smiled, nodding in satisfaction. "Aye then, to business. Have you heard the name 'Hawke' in the last year?"

The dwarf's brow creased suspiciously. "Who in Lowtown hasn't?" he pointed out. "He's a smuggler, isn't he?"

Rumor shook her head. "Not by choice," she told him. "Athenril took him on - him and his siblings - as a means to pay off Gamlen's debt. She's had them for a year, and the year's up. Gallows being so close, they're a wee bit desperate for money or status. Something to shield young Bethany from the templars."

"If they don't have any money, they can't help us," Varric began, cut off as she raised her hand.

"Look at the bigger picture," she said. "I've a mind to throw work their way. Two weeks, they'll have more'n fifty gold to play with. Get in with them, help them get rich quick, and they'll trust you with it."

He considered this. "All right, makes sense. But why are you going out of your way to help a couple of Fereldans?"

A flicker of what might almost be defensive consternation crossed her expression. "I'm not going out of my way," she informed him sharply. "Happens they live in my building."

"So does Gamlen, and you've never helped him out." He leaned forward, curiosity sparking in his rich amber gaze.

"Gamlen's an arse," she replied succinctly. "Look, Hawke'll be going to Bartrand tomorrow. Your dick'll turn him away, 'cos he can't see a good thing when it's in front of him. So it's up to you to talk Callum Hawke into this. Get him on board, and I'll feed him work through you and Athenril."

"Why not directly?" Varric asked, reaching to refill his mug.

"He's never met me." She chuckled. "Doubt he's even heard of me. Athenril's very good at pretending she knows more than she does. Besides, he'll trust tips more coming from a friend and a former employer."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" Despite himself, Varric was impressed.

"Thinking's a lot of what I do," she reminded him easily. "Now, as to the other part of your problem ... happens there's a Grey Warden in town. Came in with the last load of refugees. He's got himself a map of the Deep Roads in the Free Marches, and Lirene knows where to find him."

"You mean there's something you don't know?" Varric teased her cheerfully. Things were definitely looking up, thanks to this conversation.

Rumor made a face. "I'm not Fereldan." She shrugged. "They're very protective of him. Hawke could get it out of her, though."

"Seems like you've solved my problems," the dwarf said expansively. "I take it you've heard about Lucky downstairs?"

"Aye." She nodded, draining her mug. "Trying to sell fluff to a Rivaini down there as I passed through."

"Not tempted to undercut him?" Varric suggested, unsurprised when she scoffed.

"Where's the need?" Rumor set the mug down. " _My_ information's not three weeks out of date. She's got a shadow, though. Might mention that."

"In exchange for a reasonable fee."

"Naturally." She rose to her feet, nodding amiably to him. "Hawke, tomorrow. I'll be in touch."

Varric chuckled, raising his mug to her. "You know where to find me."

"Always."

With a faint smile, she left him to his thoughts, making her way down to the taproom of the disreputable hive known as The Hanged Man. Why Varric chose to live here was beyond her, but she understood the appeal of making it his center of operations. Sooner or later, _everyone_ visited The Hanged Man. Quite apart from the Lowtown locals, this was where you could find almost anyone for hire. Cut-throats, thieves, whores, fences; there were even a few of her own agents in here most of the time. Most were professionals, as honest as a short shoelace, but some ... Her eyes fell on Lucky with a resigned sigh. Some of them tried to sell moonbeams for the price of a palace.

The Rivaini woman he was plying his dubious charms on seemed to have succumbed to whatever offer he had made her, passing the hopeful charlatan a mug of ale as Rumor crossed the taproom floor. She took up a lean against the bar, half an ear on the rippling chatter around her as she waited for Lucky to push off. She knew he would, just as soon as he realized she was there. It was one thing to pretend he was her rival to newcomers who didn't know better; it was asking for trouble to do it in front of her.

"You know," she said conversationally as Lucky left the building, "nothing that gob-shite tells you is worth the pint you just bought him."

The Rivaini woman glanced her way. "Well, aren't you a sweetheart to tell me so," she drawled in a voice like molten sugar. "Unfortunately, he's my only option. His better-informed rival is a hard man to pin down."

Rumor smirked, turning her head to catch Norah's attention. "A hard man indeed. Helps if you ask the right people."

Lazy interest lit up the dark face beside her, a sensual mouth curving into a come-hither smile. "And would you be the right people, sweet thing?"

"I might be." Rumor cast a teasing glance to her suddenly very friendly conversational companion. "All depends on the price."

"There is a saying," the Rivaini temptress mused with artful curiosity, "that truth is more valuable than silver or gold."

"Might be inclined to agree. S'pose it all depends on your truth." Taking a cup from Norah with a nod, Rumor turned to face the seduction in the making. "I'll tell you something for nothing. Your man Lucky's got nothing to give you. He's a wee fish in a very big pond."

"Are the sharks circling?" Beautiful brown eyes glittered with predatory amusement.

Rumor laughed softly. "Around him? More like to eat his own tail than warrant a snap from bigger jaws."

"And what can you offer me instead, sweet thing?" One hand reached out, rope-callused fingers playing lightly over Rumor's resting hand. The offer was clear ... but not business.

"Reliable information," she answered easily, turning her hand to draw a single fingertip over the Rivaini's palm. "Might take longer to source than Lucky's lies. Have a wee something already that'd interest you, but business isn't free."

"Nothing is free in this world, precious," the dark woman pointed out.

"Beg to differ on that one."

Rumor's lips quirked into a lopsided smirk as she gave herself the pleasure of looking over the ravishing beauty before her. Long legs, lithe arms; curves enough to fill a bed handsomely; skin the color of baked earth under the summer sun, rough where life made it so and smooth everywhere else, glittering with burnished gold in the light of the torches. The white cloth of her long tunic set her off very nicely indeed. And all topped off with a face to stop a heart, crowned with eyes that saw most and promised more. A very delectable temptation, indeed.

"But business 'fore pleasure," she added teasingly. "Allow me to introduce myself. Folk 'round here call me Rumor."

The laugh this elicited was rich and loud, disbelief coupled with true delight at the unveiling of her identity. "Oh, you wily thing," the Rivaini woman crowed. "I've been had, and I didn't even know it."

"Believe me, lovely, when I have you, you'll know it," Rumor assured her, taking the warm reaction as an invitation to trace her palm up over the toned arm beside her. "But as I say, business first. Your name would be?"

"Yes, do let's get the business out of the way," her companion purred, one bold hand sliding beneath the hang of Rumor's cloak to pour her sensual touch over the flare of one leather-clad hip. "I'm Isabela, precious. formerly Captain Isabela, until my ship was destroyed in a storm."

"Stormy seas will do that," Rumor murmured, though she wasn't fooled. The Qunari had given the same excuse to the viscount; she could almost smell the connection. "Yet you're not at the Docks. Best place to find yourself a new ship."

"Unfortunately, I lost something rather valuable in the wreck," Isabela lamented in sultry fashion. "I'm stuck here until I find it again. My life does rather depend on it."

"And such a pretty life, too." Rumor set her cup down, twisting until she face this gorgeous minx trying to buy her with half-truths. Her own hands found a place to rest at the pirate's waist, teasing the warm skin on display between artfully tied laces. "Have you coin to pay for what I may find out for you? Fifty silver for what I know now; rates negotiable for finding your lost treasure."

"Are you sure we can't work out some other form of payment?" Isabela pouted, easing closer. She smelled of sea salt and tar; of some spiced oil over her own clean sweat. She smelled delicious ... but Rumor was no fool.

"I'm not a whore, and neither are you," she purred back to the temptress in her arms. "Money for my information, or you find someone else to tilt your ballast."

Isabela stilled, her wide mouth curving into a new smile. "A woman of integrity," she mused, almost teasing in her assessment. "Power, integrity, and beauty. Such a rare find." Her warm eyes flickered to Rumor's lips for a brief moment, desire battling sense. "My purse can afford your offer, precious. Fifty silver for what you know."

There was a gentle clink of coin as silver changed hands, secreted about the Starkhaven woman's form before her hands returned to the slender softness of Isabela's waist.

"Raiders shadowing you," Rumor told her quietly. "Fella named Hayder took lodgings in Hightown, says he'll have what you've got, be you dead or alive. Focusing their search on the Docks for now. But they'll find you soon, 'Bela."

"Not if I find them first."

For a split second, a suggestion of fear clouded the exotic face, swiftly pushed aside in favor of lustful satisfaction.

"Worth every penny," Isabela purred, taking that last step with sinuous grace to press close to the woman in her sights. "And now our business is concluded for the evening ..."

"Let's give these lechers a taste of what they'll never have," Rumor suggested, her smile promising but brief as Isabela laughed, bending to bestow a kiss that had half the taproom straight as a bow-sprit.

Soft lips tugged and teased for a long moment, each woman testing the waters only to find them both warm and welcoming. Rumor felt her new friend twist about, herself guided back until she was pressed between the solid wooden counter and the alluring promise of Rivaini curves. Isabela tasted like the sea; of salt and tar and top-shelf rum, thrumming with eager desire. Her own hands wandered, heedless of the envious eyes on them, to cup the generous rear-end so scantily-clad, lips turning upward in a grin at the laughing gasp that answered her boldness. Oh yes, this was a temptation worth indulging ... but one more thing had to be said.

"Fair warning," she murmured, arching into the skim of experienced fingers along the side of her breast. "I wake up with no drawers and no money, you're a dead woman walking."

Isabela drew her head back, rum-soaked gaze bright with both desire and intelligent understanding. "A woman after my own heart," she chuckled, nipping the smaller woman's full lips. "No tricks, precious. No strings."

"Then we best move this somewhere I can taste every inch of you without starting a riot." Rumor grinned, palming the enticingly ample backside in her hands with clear intent.

The moons were high when Rumor stepped out of The Hanged Man, raising her hood to hide the satisfied smirk playing about her lips. Isabela had been all she promised and more - flexible, adventurous; honest, too. And fun ... they had shared as much laughter as desire in their hours together. Nor had there been any silly moping when Rumor rose to leave; no strings meant just that, though the invitation lay open for a repeat performance or twenty. She might just take the Rivaini beauty up on that offer. It had been a while since she'd indulged.

The night's breeze whistled eerily over the shafts still open to Darktown as she turned left, making her habitual sweep via the foundries and the alienage on her way back to the hex she called home. The familiar hint of chokedamp teased her nose, making her sigh as she went, offering up a silent prayer to Andraste. No doubt the morning would bring news of another hex suffocated in their sleep - a sad loss of life, but jobs and homes for some of those without them. Life was brutal in Kirkwall, but it always had been. At least her network of informers kept some of those on the very edge from drowning. She paid fair for what they gave her; fair enough that no one did much business in information unless it passed through her hands. Even the Viscount had been known to listen to _rumor_.

As her feet grazed the steps down into the alienage, she stilled. This time of night, the only sound down there should be the breeze in the vhenadahl; those elves who worked the dark hours wouldn't be back until dawn, and the others would be sound asleep by now. There shouldn't be the sound of staggered footsteps and cursing, or the snap of flint and tinder in the darkness.

Rumor's expression darkened under her hood. When were these people going to learn? Softening her step, she melted into the shadows, ghosting down the steps to see who was trying to cause mischief tonight. Kirkwall elves had it bad enough without idiot humans trying to make themselves feel big.

Three human men were stood at the foot of the great tree. The offering plate had been emptied and knocked to the ground. She could smell the alcohol from here - stale ale and coward's courage combined in a petty attack on a community whose only crime was being elven. Rumor watched from the shadows as one of them tried again to set light to the vhenadahl with the tinderbox in his hand. She rolled her eyes; these would-be arsonists were too drunk and too stupid to have noticed the burning torches set around the base of the tree. She was going to have to come down heavily on the city guards again. These cretins wouldn't have got in if the gate had been closed. Ah, well ... lessons must be learned.

"That's a bad idea, lads."

The drunk trio visibly started, the tinderbox falling to the ground as they each looked around wildly, utterly failing to notice the deeper shadow that was speaking to them.

"Who's there?" one demanded, his hand on the knife at his belt.

"One of them bleedin' knife-ears," another growled, his words slurred and angry.

"Oh, it's not the elves that'll be bleeding," Rumor assured them conversationally. "Fereldan lads, are you? Feeling hard done by and looking for an easy target?"

"What's it to you?" the first snarled, still looking around for her. "What're you gonna do about it?"

Her voice drifted out of the shadows, unnervingly calm. "Well, if you don't go home right now, I'll kill you."

The third member of the belligerent group gulped. "I told you," he quavered. "I told you this place was protected."

"By a girl?" the second scoffed. "Shut up."

"Heard tell your Warden hero's a city elf," Rumor added, testing the weight of a throwing knife in her hand. "Aye, and a woman, too. Think she'd look kindly on Fereldans attacking elves in Kirkwall?"

There ... the second man had finally pinpointed her in the gray darkness of shadow. "She's Fereldan herself," he sneered. "This lot are Marchers. Why would she care?"

"Let me put it this way," Rumor said in a firm tone. "I care."

The dagger left her hand in silence, catching the second man full in the throat. Blood spurted in the moons' light, dark and cloying, spraying his companions as he fell. A second dagger took the first man in the heart as he drew his knife. The third turned to run, crying out in sudden agony as the twitch of a dying arm still holding that knife neatly sliced through the tendon at his heel. Begging for mercy in blubbering terror, he crawled toward the steps, his own useless foot dragging over the packed earth, his blood soaking into the ground he had sought to defile. Rumor knelt beside him, one gloved hand taking hold of his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat.

"No ... I don't wanna die ..."

"Shouldn't have tried to burn my heritage, then," she told him coldly, drawing one of her belt knives across his throat.

Then she sighed, rising to her feet. Three dead humans in the alienage would only bring the elves trouble. Still, it was easily dealt with. Her daggers were retrieved and cleaned before she began, scuffing the earth until the blood was hidden, turning her attention to her victims. What money they had went into the communal pot beneath the vhenadahl; anything that could identify them was pocketed. She'd circulate those personal effects in a couple of months, when the search was called off. The bodies themselves required a little more effort to remove. She could drop them down one of the mining shafts right here, but that would lead anyone with sense straight back to the alienage. No, there was nothing for it. One by one, she dragged each of the bodies to a different shaft - one in the market, one in the foundries, one outside her own door. But away from the alienage, that was the main thing.

By the time she was done, there were only a few hours left until dawn. Another night short on sleep, with a full day planned. But worth it. After all, rumor stalked the streets at all hours. How else could she get paid?


End file.
